


The Oldest Gods

by ThisIsHowICope



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: M/M, Multi, No Spoilers, contains like sex scenes but this isn't porn so they aren't super detailed, it's not slow burn but it aint fast burn either, m/m/m/m..., there are also a lot of other relationships & characters but...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 21:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16982112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsHowICope/pseuds/ThisIsHowICope
Summary: "I didn't ask to be a demigod. But I wouldn't trade it for the world. Camp Half-Blood gave me a second life- a real life. It gave me powers and training and wonder and adventure and friends and... more-than-friends...Yeah I'm still not sure how that last one happened."





	1. English Teachers are Not to be Trusted

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This isn't a super serious fic. It's genuinely just self insert for me to cope with my horrible, horrible mental illnesses. Here, I get to have boyfriends (all my fictional crushes huh) and be unashamedly gay and don't have my parents in the picture and I get to have a new name and life. But there's plot too! So all that fun stuff is interwoven and explained in-universe by the end (complete with amazing twists and turns! suspense! reveals! and more! I HoPe!)
> 
> Side note: Yes, this is very gay. Yes this is very poly. Yes, this contains tasteful descriptions of coitus. BUT! if you are a fujoshi/yaoi/gaybie person, or you tolerate any of that bullshit (or anything similar), I want you to know that I, an experienced writer, do not posses the means of language required to describe how much of a pile of garbage you are, and I'm not even sure the English language is capable of such an intense feat. In short:
> 
> You! Are! Not! Welcome! And if you read a single fucking SENTENCE of this fic I will drink your teeth. Are we clear? Good.

I should’ve known everything would go to shit during English class.

I mean, the day started out normal enough. I woke up, got dressed and escaped the house before my parents woke up. There a few days I have the energy to deal with them. Today isn’t one of them.

My first interaction for the day occurs when my only friend walks up to me as we line up outside English.

“What’s up?” says Grover Underwood. I smile halfheartedly at him.

“Nothing. Like always.”

“Bad day?” Grover looks meaningfully at me. He doesn’t understand my brain (not that anyone does) but he’s probably the only person who accepts me, broken and depressed as I am.

“Bad week.” I can’t help but smile a little- genuinely, this time. Starting high school, just about every individual rejected me. Friendlessness fucks up your brain. It hurts more than anyone who’s never experienced it has the capability to imagine. But now I have Grover. He’s the new kid- started this year- but in the few months since September I’ve found out how it feels to have real human connection.

“It’s Monday,” says Grover, laughing a little. He doesn’t understand depression, but he sure as hell understands how to make my feel a little better.

“Yeah, well…” I jerk my head towards the classroom. “Not looking forward to Miss Kower.” Grover’s smile drops instantly, and he glances nervously towards the door.

“Yeah,” he says, shuffling from one foot to another. “Me neither.” Then, someone pushes roughly past him in the corridor. Grover’s bad legs twist, and he falls straight into me, our noses inches apart. Panicking, I push Grover back into a standing position and he dusts himself off. Then, we both look for the offending party.

“Whoops,” said a sickly sweet voice. “Didn’t see you there.” Lily. Of course it is. Lily Coulter really knows how to pick her targets. Grover blushes furiously, and stares awkwardly at her. Neither of us say anything as Lily saunters off, her perfectly brushed brown hair flowing behind her. My stomach sinks as I see Grover, shaking himself back to reality. Thing is, I’ve had a crush on Grover since he first talked to me, back in September. I can’t help it. Someone being nice to me is such an alien concept, how can it make me feel anything else? Plus, Grover is able to pull off a small goatee. That counts for something. But it’s obvious he feels something for Lily. Every guy in school does. I sometimes wonder if she has some sort of magic field that makes boys- even the ones that hate her, like Grover- stumble for words in her presence. Maybe, if I liked girls like a normal human being, she’d have that effect on me.

“Fuck her,” I say. Of course, I’m far too cripplingly anxious to say that to her face, but my helpless crush on Grover doesn’t mean I don’t value our friendship. I can’t count the number of times I’ve stopped Lily from making him embarrass himself like she’s done just about every guy in school, not to mention 3 girls. It’s like she controls them. She can tell them to do the dumbest thing, and for some reason they all do it, no questions asked. Maybe it’s cause she’s Ms. Kowan’s daugher. Ms. Kowan is the shittiest teacher I’ve ever had, and _that’s_ saying something. I once, in an uncharacteristic bout of confidence, told Lily to shove it. Next English lesson, Ms. Kowan gave me 5 hours of detention for talking back in class.

“I’m fine,” says Grover. He nods over my shoulder. “Look. Line’s going in.” That’s another quirk of Ms. Kowan’s. If you aren’t 10 minutes before the bell, that’s detention. Two years ago, bullied one boy so hard one day he killed himself. Not that suicide is discouraged in the education system. His name was Charlie. No one misses him. Except me.

We file in, Grover limping behind me, and take our seats. Thankfully, Ms. Kowan doesn’t actually know that Grover and I are friends, since she refuses to believe either of us has any friends whatsoever and especially since Grover has only been at the school for two months. That means we get to sit together. If she knew that made us happy, she’d separate us in a heartbeat.

“Good morning, class,” she says, her tone making it clear that it isn’t anything of the sort. “Today, we will be studying the work of Bram Stoker.” Grover sits upright, his eyes wide, and I find this… odd. Grover is as constantly nervous as I am, especially in English, but I’ve never seen him like this. “Who can name a novel by Bram Stoker?” No one bothers to raise their hands.

“Dracula,” says Lily, giving a dazzling smile.

“Correct,” says Ms. Kower to the surprise of exactly no one. “No homework for a week. Now, first we must look at context.” For some strange reason, Ms. Kower has an incredibly sly look on her face, as if she’s hiding something hilarious from all of us. With her, the punchline is invariably cruel. “Now, vampires as a cultural myth have existed for an incredibly long time, with many different variations…” As Ms. Kower launched into her monologue, Grover nudges me. I look to see his eyes wide and scared, but with a look of determination on his face.

“Are you ok-” I whisper, but Grover cuts me off.

“We need to get out of here. Now.”

“I… is something wrong?” It’s a stupid question. Something is clearly very wrong. Grover rummages in his bag for something and pulls something out of it, though he hides it under the table so that Ms. Kower doesn’t see.

“We need to get out,” he says again. He’s eyeing Ms. Kower so intensely that I start to worry something a little more serious than Ms. Kower’s ordinary teacher cruelty is looming.

“Grover!” Ms. Kower calls from the front of the room. Grover freezes, his eyes darting all over the place. “Something you’d like to share with us?”

“No, Miss.”

“Lies,” says Ms. Kower. She looks strange, almost… hungry. “You do not talk in my class and go unpunished, Mr. Underwood. Now make yourself useful. It’s time for a practical demonstration.” Grover doesn’t move. I start to fidget restlessly. Something is about to happen. A short silence.

“What kind of demonstration, Miss?” Grover’s voice is strangely steely. I grab the strap of my backpack on a strange instinct. Ms. Kower smiles.

“But of course,” she sings. “You weren’t listening. Lily and I were just about to show everyone where the myth of vampires originates. Do you happen to know what the first vampires were?” Grover doesn’t move. He’s holding the object he pulled from his bag under the table. I risk a glance, and my confusion and uncertainty double when I see that it’s a small set of wooden pan pipes.

“Grover,” I whisper. “What-”

“I know exactly what the first vampires were,” Grover says with a quiet anger. I’ve never seen him like this. He stands up, holding the pan pipes in front of them. Panicking, I do something completely stupid: I stand up too. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know Grover is serious and I know Ms. Kower is the enemy.

“Well, why don’t you share with the class?” says Ms. Kower. Her eyes are flashing dangerously, she walks towards us with either murder or detention in her eyes.

“The first vampires,” Grover says, stepping back, “were _empousai_.”

“Correct,” Ms. Kower whispers. “Now sit down. It’s time for the demonstration.”

And then, everything went to shit.

There was an explosion. Force flew from the centre of the room, sending desks and chairs and students flying to the wall. Like the rest of the class, I was thrown backwards, my head slamming into the wall. Dazed, I stumbled to my feet to see the walls lined with desks and concussed students. The only people still in the center of the room were Ms. Kower and Lily. But something was wrong.

They weren’t human. Their hair was made of fire, their skin was chalk-white, and their eyes glowed an unnatural red. Their legs were even worse: one was a log of bronze, and the other was gray and covered in matted fur. Next to me, Grover got back to his feet, brandishing his pipes. He was still Grover, but he had changed too. He had torn off his shoes and trousers to reveal...

The image is too much. My head spins, and my stomach lurches with the impossibility of the situation. Grover’s legs are covered in brown fur, ending in what is unmistakably a pair of hooves. I want to run from him, from every inhuman creature in this ridiculous English class. But I trust Grover. I have to.

“What do we do,” I say, deciding questions can come later. Before Grover can speak, Lily laughs with an inhuman sound.

“Some protector,” she screeches. “We expected more from a Lord of the Wild. No weapons? No sword? How are you gonna kill us now, mule?”

“Leave this to me,” Grover mutters to me. Before I can stop him, he puts the pipes to his lips and lunges towards the monsters with flaming hair. Before my eyes, Ms. Kower conjured a handful of blue fire which she throws at Grover, who dodges. It takes a second to recognise it, but he is playing YMCA. Suddenly, a thick knot of grass bursts through the classroom floor, dancing crazily. More questions force themselves into my head, but I ignore them. Helping Grover comes first.

“Woodland magic,” taunts Ms. Kower. “Really, Grover? I’ll have to put you down a grade or two for this kind of performance.” Grover doesn’t reply. He dodges another handful of fire from Lily, while Ms. Kower points at the rope of grass around her ankles. At once, the plants wilt, falling limp and gray to the floor.

Now other students start to realize what’s happening. Screams tear the air, and a few run to the door. As they did, Lily snaps her fingers and the door slams shut, resisting all panicked urges to open it. More screams, more running, but I keep my eyes on the fight in the center.

“Stop playing,” Lily commands. Incredibly, Grover falls silent, removing the pipes from her mouth, a blank expression on his face. But the moment passes. Grover grits his teeth and returns to playing, causing a myriad of plants to burst through the walls and floor. “I said STOP,” Lily repeats, but Grover refuses to listen. Strange vines dangle from the ceiling, and leaves cover the carpet, turning the room into a bad greenhouse.

As the plants continue to writhe and wiggle, on rears and whips Ms. Kower across the face, sending her to the floor. She screams, and springs back to her feet, snarling and lunging at Grover with bared fangs.

I see what happens before it does. Grover, seeing Ms. Kower dive at him, dodges to the side. But Lily runs to intercept him. And Grover is concentrating on playing the pan pipes- he won’t see her in time. Lily licks her lips hungrily.

I don’t know what to do, but whatever it is, I do it anyway. Behind me, a plastic chair has been shattered by the explosion. I grab one of the splintered legs and wield it like a club, charging at Lily. Looking at Grover, she doesn’t dodge in time, and I hit her squarely over the head. There’s a sickening thud, and Lily stumbles backwards. Grover looks round at the noise and, seeing me, runs to my side.

“Nice one,” he says, sounding not nearly as surprised as he should be that they were being attacked a pair of inhuman monsters. Then, at my side, he turns back to the creatures and continues playing his pipes. This time, he plays much louder and faster than before, and I almost jump out of my skin when a thick mass of ivy wriggles and tangles itself together before launching itself at the class window, shattering the glass.

“Everyone out!” Grover yells. The students don’t need to be told twice. Immediately, my classmates start diving out of the shattered window, landing on the grass outside and running for their lives. Lily attempts to slash at me, but just then a tangle of small white flowers wrap around her ankle and pull, sending her to the floor. I feel a small victory, but that is snatched from me when Ms. Kower seizes her opportunity while we’re distracted. Grover barely manages to pull me out of the way in time, and even then Kower’s claws rake my arm, cutting my left arm from shoulder to wrist. I cry out in pain, but quickly grit my teeth and regain my senses.

Grover and I are now in the back corner of the classroom. Ms. Kower and Lily are approaching like hungry wolves, their red eyes glowing even brighter than before. Their fangs looked a lot longer close up. Then, they speak in strange unison, their voices mingling like a cultish chant.

“Stop playing your pipes, Grover.” The sound is eerie and echoes off the walls. Grover pauses, the music halts, and he slowly lowers his pipes away from his mouth.

“No!” I yell. “Grover, why are you listening to them?” The creatures must be pulling some kind of mind control. Grover looks at me, conflicted, but the monsters pursue.

“Listen to us, children,” they hiss. “Place down your weapons. You don’t need to fight us. We promise, we’ll let you go if only you put down your weapons.” Again, Grover complies. I try to stop him, but he shakes me off, his eyes tormented. I turn back to the monsters, raising my chair leg and standing between them and Grover.

“Don’t you hurt him!” I don’t know how I could ever fight two fire-headed mind controllers, but right now I don’t care.

“Put down your weapon,” they hiss. “We won’t hurt you. We might even give you a little… kiss.”

“With your halitosis?” I yell. “I’d rather you kill me, thanks.” The monsters look strangely annoyed at this, and I suddenly realize: for whatever reason, they can’t mind control me like they mind controlled Grover. Given how wildly the odds were stacked against me, this one small advantage feels like the breath of hope.

“Fine,” says Lily. “It’s your funeral, after all.” She and Ms. Kower snarl, raise their claws, and dive at me, their fanged mouths foaming with rage. In desperation, I raise my chair leg and charge at them, swinging it back and forth with as much strength as I can manage. I feel contact and see Ms. Kower’s surprised face as my club crashes into her ribcage. She stumbles back, clawing at me blindly and grabbing my wrist to pull herself back up. Baring her fangs, she pulls me closer and dives for my neck, giving me milliseconds to react.

Without knowing why, I take both my hands and grab either side of Ms. Kowers head. With all my strength, I try to keep her fangs from reaching my skin, but just then a strange feeling, a mixture of rabid fury and calm wrath, permeates my body. Ms. Kower’s face goes slack and she falls to her knees, and I step back in surprise to see her crumple to the floor, unconscious.

Seeing her mother fall, Lily attempts to tear me to shreds with her claws, but something seems to stop her from approaching. I look down and, my mouth falling open, see that her bronze leg has been transformed into a small, well-rooted tree. Lily glances down, looking just as surprised as I felt. Then, over the rush of blood in my ears, I realized that Grover was playing his pipes again, only this was a song I didn’t recognise. It felt much more powerful and ancient, and the tree slowly spread up Lily’s leg until she was a tree from the waist down. Lily screamed again, sending a whirlwind of fire towards Grover, but he dodged and continued playing, the bark creeping up to Lily’s neck. Eventually, with a final scream, the wood closed over her face and she fell silent.

There was a long pause. Grover and I looked at each other, the tree that had once been Lily between us. Now the fight is over, I am unable to hold the questions back.

“What the fucking-”

“Not now,” says Grover seriously. “Not here. We need to get somewhere private.”

“Why?” I ask, incredulous. “We need to tell the police! We-”

“No,” says Grover again, more forcefully. “You really think they’ll believe you? We stopped anyone from getting hurt. Our job’s here’s done. We need to go.”

“But…” I begin, but Grover looks deeply at me, and the unconscious Ms. Kower begins to stir. “I trust you,” I say, nodding gravely. “Whatever you say, I trust you. What do we do?” Grover looks at me, grateful and perhaps the tiniest bit surprised, before running to the back of the classroom.

“Follow me,” he said, climbing nimbly onto a nearby table before bending his furry legs and jumping through the shattered window. I cast one more glance over the complete carnage and wonder vaguely how anyone is going to explain what happened.

Then I follow Grover out through the window, leaving my English classroom behind.

 


	2. This is Bad Things

We don’t stop until we reached a Denny’s. Running has never been my forte, but the adrenaline is still pumping through my veins as I follow Grover through the NYC streets. I expect pedestrians to stop and stare at his furry legs, but most don’t notice, and those that do don’t show any surprise.

When Grover finally stops running, I follow him into a Denny’s and we take the nearest empty booth.

“Ok,” I say at last. “Now I need some answers. Why the hell do you have hooves?”

“I’m a satyr,” Grover says, as if this is an everyday thing to say. “Half goat.” I’m still panting, but he doesn’t seem even slightly out of breath.

“I’m sorry, you’re _what_?”

“Half goat,” Grover repeats. “Next question.”

“Half g- Fine. My next question is what the FUCK is going on?!”

“Look,” Grover stares meaningfully at me. “I can’t explain everything. Not here. There’s a summer camp on Long Island where you’ll be safe. Once we’re there, I can explain everything.” I try to understand this, but my head is still spinning.

“I’m… were you always half goat?” Grover nods. “Then what were you doing at my school? Since when do satyrs even _exist_? They’re old Greek myths. They’re not real.”

“I was keeping an eye on you,” Grover says. “To keep you safe for as long as possible.”

“But…” Grover seems to sense what I’m about to ask.

“We’re still friends,” he says. “I’m still me. I’m just… furrier than you expected.”

“And you couldn’t maybe have mentioned this before?”

“The less you know, the better.” Grover glances towards the door. “Once you know too much, monsters will be able to smell you better.”

“Monsters?” My brain whirs. “Like Ms. Kower and Lily?” Grover nods.

“They were _empousai_. Dangerous ones, too. I couldn’t resist both their charmspeak combined.”

“...charmspeak?”

“Yeah,” says Grover, looking at me a little curiously. “It’s a type of magic used to control people. _Empousai_ use it to seduce men before sucking their blood. Why didn’t it work on you?” I shrug, trying not to blush. I have a good idea why it didn’t work on me, but I’m not about to say it out loud. Grover pauses, then looks back at the door. “We should get going.”

“How are we gonna get to Long Island?”

“Taxi.”

“Without money?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I look uncertainly at Grover, but he simply stands up and walks back out into the street. I follow, pushing down the sudden urge to take an extremely long nap.

It takes a few minutes to find a taxi, during which Grover becomes increasingly nervous. At a couple of points, he gives a nervous bleating laugh. I’ve heard him laugh like that before, but knowing that he was half goat definitely recontextualized that information. Still, despite his nerves he remained focused and calm, which made it a lot easier for me not to panic. When we finally find a taxi, Grover climbs inside and I follow.

The inside of the cab is surprisingly comfortable, and there’s an overwhelming smell of fresh pine air freshener. The driver is tall and stubbly, but seems pleasant enough.

“Farm Road, Long Island,” says Grover. The driver glances in the mirror and gives a gruff smile when he sees Grover’s legs.

“Nice costume, kid,” he says, and I suddenly remember that Hallowe’en is tomorrow. No wonder no one even batted an eye at Grover’s goat legs. Then, the driver accelerates, and we begin speeding towards Long Island.

Ok, maybe ‘speeding’ is a hyperbole. In NYC traffic, speed is relative, but despite this, the journey takes only a few hours. For some reason, Grover continually sniffs the air and glances out of the window.

“Is something up?” I whisper to him, so as not to alert the driver.

“I just… the smell.”

“You don’t like pine?”

“No, I just…” he pauses, glances at the driver, and looks back at me. “Satyrs can smell monsters.” My stomach twists a little.

“Does he smell like a monster?”

“That’s just it,” Grover bites his lip, leaning in closer so that the rim of his hat nudges my forehead. “I can’t smell anything over this air freshener. If a monster wanted to avoid detection, this would be a good way to do it.” My insides twist nervously, the uncertainty bubbling in my guts. My eyes dart around the car, from the back of the driver’s shaved head to the reflection of the blue car behind us in the rear view mirror, while my brain imagines all sorts of worst-case scenarios.

But after another hour of anticipation, I start to relax a little. The driver seems to be taking us the correct way, which wouldn’t make much sense if he intended to kill us. Eventually, we turn onto a small road and leave the city behind us, the side of the empty road fringed with trees.

“This is close enough,” says Grover, still on edge. “You can drop us off here.”

“Alrighty,” grunts the driver, pulling off to the side of the road. “Your total is-”

“Oh, but don’t you remember?” says Grover with a sudden clarity. “We paid in advance. “He snaps his fingers, and the driver’s eyes go slightly blank. He grunts, then nods slowly.

“Of course,” he says distantly. “My mistake.” I stare at Grover, amazed, before we both exit the car. Without another word, the driver turns around and goes back the way he came.

“How the hell did you do that? Was that charmspeak?”

“No,” says Grover. “That’s mist manipulation. But charmspeak works in a similar-” he stops suddenly, his eyes darting from side to side. Nervously, he draws his pipes from a strap around his waist.

“What is it?”

“All that air freshener,” he says sniffing the air. “It was too strong. I couldn’t smell anything.”

“What? But if the driver was a monster, why’d he let us go?”

“No…” Grover says under his breath. “Not the driver…”

“Then who-” I begin, but I suddenly see something in the distance. A navy blue car speeding towards us, rocketing around corners. “That car. It’s been following us.” Grover looks at me. I know the fear in my eyes must be obvious, but Grover doesn’t flinch. “What do we do?” I manage. He locks eyes with me.

“We run. Very fast.”

We tear off down the road, Grover leading the way. Through my panicked breathing, I manage to speak to him.

“Where are we running to?”

“The summer camp. It’s just up ahead.” We’re fast runners, but there’s no way we could outrun the car. Within thirty seconds, it halves the distance between us, its engine roaring like a predator. Another thirty seconds, and it’ll be upon us. “Here!” yells Grover, diving sideways into the forest. I follow, darting between trees with barely enough time to register a sign that said something about strawberries. Without looking back, I hear the car engine rev before falling silent. The sound of a car door opening and slamming rings in my ears.

Ahead, I see a small wooden gate with the words “CAMP HALF-BLOOD” carved across the top. Without the luxury of hesitating, I continue to plunge towards it. At least, until something as thick as a tree trunk slams into my left side. My arm, still bleeding from the fight with the _empousai_ , erupts in further pain.

“Grover!” I yell as I fly into the nearest tree. My visions sways, but I manage to stumble to my feet in time to see Grover turn around and face the thing that was following us.

It’s worse than the _empousai_. A giant, elongated head sits atop a torso the height of a basketball hoop. Its bony arms have two elbows each, causing them to bend in disturbing ways; its hair is matted and slimy; and its legs aren’t even remotely human. They’re a pair of thick, scaly serpentine creatures, ending in reptilian faces with deadly red eyes.

“GET TO THE GATE!” yells Grover, charging at the beast. My head still spinning from the impact with the tree, I don’t have much room for cognitive faculties so I obey without thinking, and I’m almost at the wooden gate before my senses catch up to me. I hear a panicked bleating, a few bars of ‘Poison Ivy’, and a sickening thud. Turning around, I see Grover stumbling backwards, dripping blood from a giant gash in his arm. Fear and anger override sense, and I start running towards the beast.

“HEY UGLY!” I yell. The creature’s human head remains fixed on Grover, but its two legs turn to face me, their fangs glinting in the sun. In what was probably the stupidest thing I could do, I run headfirst towards it, unarmed with even a chair leg. But I don’t care. I feel myself collide with the snake-legs, barely avoiding having my legs ripped off by their gaping maws. The creature stumbles. It’s too big for me to knock it to the ground, but at least I have its attention. It raises its huge, bony arms, brandishing long, inhuman claws, and writhes its legs aggressively, trying to shake my grasp. But I hold on, tossed this way and that by the monster’s powerful muscles. A strange power ripples in my gut, causing a painful tug, and I suddenly feel my adrenaline calcify into something sharp and deadly. The monster twitches, screaming with all three of its mouths, before collapsing to the ground and disintegrating. Seeing this, I look at Grover, who stares at me with eyes wide in surprise.

Then, the adrenaline crashes. I fall to my knees, my vision fading, and the last thing I know is the feeling of arms around my waist, hauling me into a fireman’s lift, before my mind goes utterly blank.


	3. "Hi! Welcome to Camp! Your entire life is a lie, have a sword."

The first thing I know is that I’m in a bed. The second thing I know is that I don’t ever want to leave. A deep ache feels like it’s burning my thigh from the inside out, and my head continues to spin. I wake up several times, and each something is different. I’m always in the same room, in the same white bed, but the people change. Sometimes I’m alone- other times, someone is in a chair, watching me. A couple of times, I manage to recognize Grover, though I’m not conscious long enough to say anything to him.

When I’m finally able to sit up, I put a hand to my head. The pain in my skull and thigh is still there, but only barely. I notice I’m wearing an unfamiliar orange t-shirt, revealing that the deep gash in my left arm is almost completely healed. How long have I been unconscious? I brush my long hair out of my eyes and look up, almost jumping out of my skin when I see Grover watching me, sitting in a chair across the room.

“Hey,” he says, smiling a little. “Up at last?”

“How long have I…?” I say groggily, and Grover shrugs.

“Not long. Only a few days.” 

“Uh, what?”

“Yeah,” says Grover casually. “That  _ dracaena _ was a nasty one. Not sure what kind, but it wasn’t Scythian. Some pretty potent venom. Here.” He stands up, takes a small glass of amberish liquid from a nearby table, and hands it to me. “Dunk this.” I take the glass carefully, examine it, and raise it to my lips. At once, my body is filled with a wonderful sensation. It tastes, impossibly, like a liquid version of chocolate cake. In fact, the specific chocolate cake that I buy from the local baker more times than I can afford, which tastes like how happiness feels. In amazed surprise, I lower the glass, savouring the taste before swallowing.

“What does it taste like?” asks Grover, eyeing the glass, now half full.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, offering it to him. “You should have some. It’s amazing.”

“No!” Grover says, a little loudly, backing away as if the glass were full of explosives. Then, he shakes himself, smiling again. “Sorry. That stuff’s not for satyrs. You should drink the rest of it.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, before downing the rest of the liquid. It tastes just as amazing the second time around, and I’m disappointed by how small the glass is. Looking back at Grover, I suddenly notice something; he’s not wearing his hat.

“Have you… always have horns?” Grover grins.

“It’s a satyr thing.” I smile back, before looking around what appeared to be a makeshift infirmary.

“Ok,” I say, sighing. “ _ Now _ can you tell me what’s going on?” I half expect Grover to tell me that, once again, questions will have to wait.

“Sure,” says Grover, to my surprise. “But there’s a lot to explain.”

“Start with the basics. For instance: where the hell am I?”

“Camp Half-Blood,” says Grover, as if that cleared anything up. But before I can ask further, he explains. “It’s a training facility for demigods like you.”

“Uh, what’s a demigod?”

“It’s in the name.” I can’t help but feel embarrassed at how many questions I have, but Grover stays completely patient. I get the sense he’s answered these questions before. “Demigod. Half god, half human.”

“Ok, back up.” My head stalls like an old car. “You’re saying I’m half god?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“What god? I’m not Christian.”

“No, not that kind of god. Come on, you’re looking at a satyr. You can figure it out.” My brain is slow, but the conclusion is obvious. My favourite subject has always been Ancient Greece. Finally, I know why.

“Greek,” I say. “Zeus, Hera, Hermes-”

“Those are the ones.” Grover glances around, suddenly nervous. “But be respectful with their names, ok?”

“Oh, sure…” I only half hear him. Most of my brain is trying to wrap itself around the fact that the Ancient Greek pantheon is apparently real. For some reason, I find it strangely easy to believe. “You mean my dad did it with a literal god?”

“Yup,” says Grover. “That’s one way to put it. Speaking of, though, you should probably contact your parents, let them know you’re ok.” I can’t help but give a small laugh.

“No point in that. They’ll be a lot happier with me gone.” Grover looks at me not particularly surprised. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

“They only make me call them mom and dad,” I say airily. “They’re my aunt and uncle. My dad died before I was old enough to remember him.” Thinking of my ‘parents’ as my family never fails to make me a little bitter. People have tried to adopt me over the years- people who’d have been much better parents than my aunt and uncle- but, of course, I have to stay with family. As if being related makes you family.

“In that case,” says Grover, pulling me back to reality, “I should show you around camp.” I stand up and follow him out of the room, onto a sort of front lawn, with a table around which a man, two satyrs and what is unmistakably a centaur sit playing cards. The centaur has long, complex brown hair and a white horse body. I catch myself staring in awe before Grover nudges me to keep walking.

“Who are they?” I ask, unable to help myself.

“The centaur is Chiron- he’s activities director- and the man in the hawaiian shirt is Mr. D- he’s camp director. Be careful around Mr. D,” says Grover seriously. I would laugh, but something in his expression tells me not to. I decide to be careful around Mr. D. Trailing behind Grover, we walk across grass far too green for November towards a ring of strange looking buildings in the center of Camp. As we approach, Grover points out the various things of interest around us. “That’s the Dining Pavilion, those are the stables, that’s the climbing wall…” I pay keen interest, drinking in every detail of this strange place. Every now and again, we pass another camper. Most are teenagers, around my age, but some look incredibly young. 

“Is everyone here a demigod?”

“Pretty much,” says Grover as we reach the strange buildings in the center. “And these are the Cabins, where you’ll sleep.”

“Which one?” I stare at the Cabins, amazed. Each is bizarre and completely unique. One is an ugly red, with a boar’s head mounted at the front; another is an elegant grey building with white drapes; yet another is made entirely of gold, glowing gently in the sunlight. They are arranged in what is roughly a circle, with an inner ring of 13 Cabins and many more spanning out in concentric circles. 

“Depends on who your godly parent is. Each one’s for a different god.” I look at Grover, an important question burning in my throat.

“So… who’s my godly parent?” 

“No idea,” says Grover, shrugging. I look at the ground, disappointed, but Grover reassures me. “Don’t worry. You’ll find out soon.”

“How?”

“Claiming. Every demigod gets claimed once they get to camp. Usually within the first few days.” Grover sees me still unsure and grins. “Don’t worry. You won’t miss it.” I make to thank him, but just then a horn sounds over the fields. Somehow, I recognize it as a conch, although I’ve never heard a conch before.”

“Dinner,” says Grover. “Come on.” Ignoring the nerves flaring up inside me, I follow him towards the white marble Dining Pavilion. The campers around us also converge towards it, and when we reach it, they fall into around 25 short lines. Looking at the inside of the Pavilion, I see an identical number of tables, ranging in size from only a couple of chairs, all the way up to tables that could hold an entire banquet. The number of people makes my palms sweat, and I wipe them nervously on my jeans. I was never good around crows.

“Grover, where do I-”

“The Hermes kids,” says Grover absentmindedly, nodding towards the longest of the lines. “Sorry, gotta go.” He hurries off towards a kid who stands in a line all on his own. The pair fist bump, and I feel embarrassment hit me like a gut punch. I suddenly realize I’ve only known Grover for two months. The people here, the kid with the windswept black hair, these are his real friends. Alone, I shuffle towards the Hermes line, trying not to be noticed. I fail almost instantly.

“New camper?” the boy at the head of the line calls over the noise. He has curly black hair and wears an orange t-shirt identical to mine over his shorts. He walks over to me. Up close, I notice his sharp features, upturned eyebrows, and mischievous grin. “Stick with me, kid,” he says casually. He doesn’t look much older than me, so I feel a little patronized being called ‘kid’. Especially since I’m far from the youngest camper. “I’m Connor.”

“Hi,” I manage, my guts knotted in anxiety. “I’m, uh, Pytt.” It’s not technically my name, of course, but it might as well be. No one ever calls me anything else.

“Sit next to me,” says Connor. “I usually initiate the new campers.” I follow him to the Hermes table and sit beside him, an empty plate and goblet in front of me. “You’ll stay in the Hermes Cabin until you’re claimed,” he says picking up his goblet. “Orange Soda.” I watch in awe as an orange liquid appears.

“Why Hermes?” Connor takes a swig and puts the goblet back on the table.

“God of tricksters, thieves, messengers,” says Connor airily. “Dad isn’t fussy.” Hearing someone call Hermes ‘dad’ was unavoidably weird to me, but I pushed the feeling aside as a crowd of various women, all with strangely greenish features, approaches the table and decorates it with plates of food. I’m nervous to do much, but seeing Connor and the other campers pile their plates, I follow suit, filling my plate with grapes, cheese, and a few slices of pizza. But, before I can eat it, Connor and the other campers all stand up, holding their plates.

“What’s-”

“Sacrifices,” answers Connor before I can even finish my question. “Come on.” Nervously, I pick up my plate and follow him towards the bonfire. Forming a line, I watch the campers ahead of us push a portion of their food into the flames, say something, and walk back to their seats.

“Really?” I ask Connor, confused.

“It’s for the gods. And don’t take it lightly- it’s important to keep them happy.” I remember something about this from history class, so decide to copy Connor as we reach the fire. First, he pushes some food into the flames, and suddenly the smell of food overwhelms me. It smells impossibly, incredibly delicious and not at all burned. “For Hermes.” 

Next, I walk up to the flames. With no idea which god to pray to, I push my food into the fire with a silent, solemn thought. ‘For whoever you are…” I walk back to Connor at the table, unable to stop myself wondering who my true mother was. She was a god. She could do anything. And yet she’d left me for 17 years with my aunt and uncle. Maybe she’d forgotten I even existed.

But the food was good. I managed to push away my resentment, diving into the pizza and realizing I haven’t eaten since Monday.

“Connor,” I say, swallowing a particularly large mouthful pizza. “What day is it?”

“But out a while, huh?” Connor grins. “Thursday.” Then, a mischievous, almost evil smile creeps over his face. “Capture the flag tomorrow.”

“Capture the flag?” My stomach sinks. I’ve never been good at sports.

“Don’t worry about it. Unless you’re claimed by tomorrow evening, you’ll be on our team. I’ll give you an easy job.”

“Thanks,” I say, though I’m not entirely reassured. Hermes is the god of tricksters, after all. Then, a loud, unruly voice commands silence from the crowd, and I’m startled to see Mr. D, standing in his ugly Hawaiian shirt. His eyes are bloodshot, and he has a very pronounced scowl.

“Alright, campers,” he says dryly. “I suppose I have to announce we have a new camper: Pat Northman.” He points at me, and my insides ravage themselves with anxiety. For some reason, this squat, ugly man commands a certain aura of power.

“Don’t worry,” Connor whispers to me. “He gets everyone’s name wrong.”

“Second: Capture the flag is tomorrow. Please make sure you’re prepared. Oh, and try not to kill anyone.” The way he says it, I get the impression that someone dying during capture the flag would only entertain him. “Now go to your little sing-a-long and leave me the f-”

“Thank you, Mr. D,” says Chiron pointedly. “Apollo Cabin, if you could lead us to the campfire.”

We spend the rest of the night sitting around a homely campfire, singing songs I’ve never heard before. Nervous, I remain near Connor, and he doesn’t seem to mind. But despite my anxiety, this strange congregation is more of a home than anything I’ve known before. I’m a good enough singer, so even though I don’t know the words, I’m able to hum along.

Eventually, the sing-a-long dissolves, and I follow Connor towards the Hermes Cabin. It’s covered in peeling brown paint. Inside, sleeping bags litter the floor. Connor tosses me one.

“Here,” he says. “This is yours. Where’s all your stuff?”

“I… don’t have any stuff,” I mumble. Connor shrugs, before walking away, leaving me to find a patch of floor. My old home had stuff. It had lots of stuff, in fact. TVs and beds and a dishwasher… but I don’t miss any of it. This is my home now. And I’m never, ever going back.

“Lights out,” Connor calls, before plunging the Cabin into darkness. Strangely, for me, I fall asleep almost at once. Maybe I left my insomnia behind when I jumped out through the window of my English class. Just one more thing I don’t miss. Maybe it’s good I don’t have any possessions here; there’s nothing for children of the god of thieves to steal.


End file.
